


It's Okay. We'll Just Keep Finding Ourselves

by ZirconiumDragon



Category: Black Clover - Tabata Yuki (Anime & Manga)
Genre: 5+1 (kinda), Anime spoilers for up until after the Witches' Forest Arc, Black Bulls - Freeform, Black Bulls are a Family, Finral and Klaus are tea drinking buddies, Finral and Vanessa are totally besties, Finral is the Mom Friend, Finral-centric, Fluff, Gen, Gratuitous exploration into Finral's Past, Liberal application of headcanons, Minor Angst, Parental Figure Yami Sukehiro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-07-30 11:40:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20096665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZirconiumDragon/pseuds/ZirconiumDragon
Summary: 5 Times Finral helped his squadmates. And one time he was helped in return. (Or maybe he was really being helped all along.)Alternatively: The Black Bulls are a family. And Finral is the mom friend.





	1. Home

The Sunday Meetings had been an accident when they first started. Klaus liked tea and had happened to wander into the Eye of Newt—a some what dramatically named tea shop that had just opened in Castle Town—at the same time that Finral was attempting to pick up its cute waitress. The waitress had shot him down, but the meetings became a habit. Finral liked tea well enough, and Klaus was willingly to lend a surprisingly sympathetic ear.

“He just charges in! Doesn’t wait to maybe discuss a plan, tactics, not even give a ‘hey please get a portal ready.’ Just charges straight in,” Finral groaned, clutching his head in his hands. “He was this close to becoming a charred crisp! He has to have some self-preservation instincts, right? Right?!”

Klaus nodded sagely. “I know what you mean. Yuno is the same.”

Finral scoffed a little. “I find that hard to believe. Mr. Ice Prince charging in like a hot-head? I just can’t picture it.”

“I understand your disbelief. That was my initial impression too, but I’ve come to realize that Yuno can be surprisingly childish at times. I recall a certain incident where one of the older members told him to ‘Stick to the rear and not get in the way!’ He proceeded to snipe every opponent that his senpai went after in range with that air bow of his while technically remaining in the rear. He seemed very smug about the whole thing.”

Finral huffed a laugh. “Now that I can see him doing! Maybe it’s a _them_ thing. Though I can think of a few other idiots on my squad with similar issues,” he muttered, recalling a particularly disastrous mission featuring a jungle, a poison plant magic-using poacher, a wild tiger, and Luck. Luck was the only one who came out of that mess happy.

Klaus took another sip of his dark brown tea, and Finral grimaced. Chai, absolutely disgusting. Give him rose hip any day.

“So, other than another near-death experience, is Asta doing okay?” Klaus asked.

“Yeah, he’s doing fine. Still training like crazy. Still spouting off nonsense. ‘I’ll be the next Wizard King!’ etcetera, etcetera.”

Klaus smiled, “That’s good. He seems to be as spirited as ever, huh.”

Finral frowned, playing distractedly with the handle of his teacup as he stared down at its pink surface contemplatively. “Actually,” he murmured, “I have notice something… odd lately.”

“Odd? About Asta?”

“Yeah, he’s been…not depressed exactly, nothing as big as that. But he seems a bit… dimmer that usual somehow. Like if his usual attitude was Charmy being presented with a four-course meal than his current state is as if someone told her that there’s no time for dessert. Well that might not be the best example. Charmy being denied food tends to have a lot more cotton and tears involved but…” he trailed off upon seeing Klaus’ lost gaze.

“In any case,” the other man ventured, “is it safe to say that he seems less energetic than usual?”

“Yes,” Finral exclaimed, glad to have been understood.

“Hmm… I haven’t really noticed anything wrong with Yuno, but then I admit to not being able to read him quite as well as I’d like. In any case, I haven’t heard that anything has gone wrong either here or back at home.”

“Same.” Finral took a considering sip of his tea before frowning. “Say when was the last time they visited home anyway?”

Klaus’ brows furrowed. “That,” he began slowly, “is a good question. I’m afraid I could not say.”

* * *

When Asta came stumbling in through Finral’s portal from his latest mission, bruised, bandaged and with one arm in a sling, no one was particularly surprised. Finral, himself, settled with merely letting out an exasperated sigh and silently congratulated his past-self for not taking Yami’s bet on how many injuries Asta would come back with this time. He waited till everybody was across—Magna and Noelle hopping through shortly after Asta—to close the gateway and make his way over. Before he could ask anything about the arm or even how the mission went, Luck was bounding in front of him talking a mile minute.

“How was the mission? Was there anyone strong? Did you win? Did you?!” He fired off quickly, going from ruffling Asta’s hair to clapping Magna’s shoulder to throwing punches in the air.

Magna grinned, slinging an arm over Asta’s shoulder. “Of course we won,” he drawled. “How could we lose when had the Black Bulls most stubborn member with us.” Asta ducked his head shyly at the praise but his dopey smile and sheepish laughter were hard to miss.

“Though that stubbornness is what broke his arm, Stupidista.” Noelle huffed behind him with a flick of her hair and a cross of her arms.

“How did that happen?” Finral finally managed to ask curiously.

“There was this dude with some insane earth magic, and I was going like this,” he exclaimed gesturing with his arm, “and he was going like this,” more wild gestures, “and then BAM! I was swatted right out of the sky! Man, did that hurt.” He laughed again, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. “Don’t worry though. I’m sure Mimosa will heal me if ask her to. She’s cool like that. Then I can go back to training!” Finral’s nose wrinkled. No one in his opinion should sound that excited about getting sweaty doing push-ups. But then that was Asta for you. Speaking of Mimosa though….

“You might have some trouble with that. I’m pretty sure she’s out on mission right now.”

“Ohh? And how do you know?” Vanessa slurred, coming up from behind to sling her arm and half her body weight on him. Finral staggered, almost losing his balance and falling to the floor completely before he corrected his stance to account for the extra weight. He flashed her an annoyed look which she skillfully ignored with a long gulp from the bottle she was carrying.

“Don’t you know Vanessa?” He cried pitching his voice a bit and sweeping his arms out grandly so that Vanessa had to pull her drink away quickly to avoid it getting spilled. “I keep track of the going-on’s of all the fair ladies in the land.” _I heard it all from Klaus though, last time we had tea together._

Vanessa rolled her eyes at his dramatics, but Asta jumped in before she could retort. “That means Yuno is on another mission too! That stupid jerk is going to get stronger again!”

“Actually, I think it was just Mimosa and Klaus this time around. Yuno stayed behind. Apparently, he’s caught a cold and is on strict bedrest. Mimosa’s orders.”

Asta paused from where he’d been maniacally jabbing the air. “Yuno? Sick?! But that perfect pretty boy never gets sick!”

Finral shrugged. “Maybe it’s stress. Apparently, they’ve been on back-to-back missions up until just a little bit ago.”

Vanessa peered at him suspiciously. “For being part of a different squad, you certainly seem to know a lot about their schedule.”

Finral grimaced at her keen insight. “What can I say,” he exclaimed airily, forcing a smile on his face. “I’m just that good.” _No way can I tell her about the Sunday meetings! She’ll either tease me relentlessly about it or, worse, bring the Black Bull’s bad luck and high property damage bills down upon on my head!_

Vanessa gave him a look of squinty suspicion and went to take another sip of her drink only to find it empty. Wrestling maybe secrets out of him became a low priority after that as she wandered off to find some more alcohol. The others excused themselves too, still needing to give their post-mission debriefing to Captain Yami.

Finral watched them go, a contemplative look on his face as he studied Asta’s sling.

* * *

The common room was loud that night. Nobody was gone or away on mission, and Charmy had generously cooked dinner for everyone with the help of her sheep chefs after which everyone had all stuck around, hanging out in the common room instead of retreating to their rooms. Vanessa had dragged the Captain into some sort of drinking game. She had somehow also bullied Grey into getting involved and even pestered Gauche to join in too, but he had remained resolutely fixated on his picture of Marie. Meanwhile, Luck seemed to have gotten into some sort of dodging contest with Asta that involved Magna lobbing fireballs at them. It was hard to tell if Noelle was trying to stop them or join in as bursts of water fired randomly into the fray. Gordon was watching from the sidelines, muttering something too silent to make out. Finral watched the chaos from his stool, eating a piece of the cake that Charmy was currently attacking with a single-minded focus. He found himself struck by the noisiness: Luck’s borderline maniacal laughter; the whistle and roar of Magna’s fireballs; Vanessa’s drunken shouting.

He had never really realized before how loud it could get with this many people in a room. _It must be par for course for Asta,_ he thought a little wistfully. Didn’t he say he has three other siblings at home? In contrast, the Vaude Manor where he’d grown up had always been much quieter, like a perpetual, still winter’s night.

It wasn’t an unwelcome change. The noise that is.

And it was a recently new one to, wasn’t it? Finral thought to himself. They’d all used to hide away in their rooms after dinners or missions. Each too wrapped up in their own worries and interests. Even as they added on members, the silence never really seemed to go away. Finral had never noticed at the time, but, compared to then, the common room now seemed markedly different. The atmosphere had become cozier, warmer. In a way that he’d never even known was lacking before. As for when it had changed…

_Well it would have to have been when he came, right?_ Finral thought, eyes settling on Asta.

“Hey Finral!”

He snapped to attention upon hearing the Captain yell his name. “Yes, sir?” He called back.

“Did you finish up those latest mission reports I gave you? I don’t need home office on me again. Those little paper pushers can be so annoying when aggravated.”

_Those never would have been so late if you hadn’t given them to me a week after they were due. _Biting back the snarky retort he so deeply wanted to give, Finral answered, “Already done. I’ll be submitting them tomorrow.”

“Ah, good work then Finral. I know they’ve been happy with the reports ever since you started doing them. Something about my handwriting being chicken scratch. I’d like to see them write in a different language then we’d see the real chicken scratch…” he muttered, devolving into a rant about the Clover Kingdom’s alphabet and spelling before Vanessa distracted him by revealing a winning hand, pulling him back into the game.

Finral felt something warm pool in his chest at the Captain’s words. It was a bit silly perhaps because he’d seen the Captain’s reports and literally anything could have been better than those monosyllabic, messy scrawls. He recalled a three day campaign that had just been one disaster after another being summed up with the oh so descriptive, “We went. We encountered the targets. We won.” So really he was sure the scribes in charge of record-keeping were just happy that they were getting the information they needed to actually do their jobs but… well… he supposed it was always nice receiving a “good work” from the Captain. Because that was the thing about the Captain, wasn’t it? He was blunt and honest. He would never tell you something if he didn’t really mean it.

_And well…_ he thought, hiding his wobbly smile with another bite of cake. _It’s always nice to have your work be recognized._

_I’ll get up early tomorrow, go in first thing and turn it in. _He thought to himself. His eyes landed on Asta as he made the promise, still with one arm in a sling, and a little light sparked in his brain. _Ooh, that’s not a bad idea. _He thought to himself and took another bite of his cake, humming happily to himself. _Good job me!_

* * *

Late the next day, when Asta found himself tumbling through one of Finral’s portals out of the blue, he was, needless to say, quite surprised. When he saw Yuno dressed in sleep-rumpled lounge clothes, sitting in the wet grass pulling on his shoes looking sick, tired and dazedly confused as if unsure that this wasn’t some fever dream he’d soon wake up from, well then Asta was even more surprised. “Um… Finral-senpai?” He asked questioningly, looking back at the smiling man who’d followed behind. “Why did you bring us to…” He looked around for the first time, and his frown deepened even as voice rose in surprise, “Hage village!?”

“You’re both on leave. Home office processed the request this morning,” Finral informed them cheerily, tossing two documents over that Asta caught more out of reflex than anything. “Don’t worry, Klaus signed off for you, Yuno,” he added with a wink.

“Leave?” Asta echoed dumbly.

Finral sighed, “Yes, Asta. Leave. It means rest. Vacation time. If you know what either of those mean.”

Asta bristled. “Of course I do! It’s just I don’t need—”

“Shh,” Finral interrupted him, placing a finger in front of his mouth to shut him up. “You have a broken arm. Yuno’s sick. Neither of you are fit to be out in the field right now. So yes, you’re on leave. It’s been a while since you’ve been home, right? So rest, see the family,” he said, edging back into the portal, already waving. “I’ll be back in—Oh, maybe one week.”

“You’re kidding!”

“Hold on Finral-senpai!”

Yuno and Asta yelled at the same time, lunging for the portal, but it was too late. It was already closing. There was one last “Bye then! See you in a week!” from Finral before the portal closed completely with a small pop.

Yuno and Asta looked at each other in mutual dazed bewilderment before they were broken out of it by a child’s excited cry. “Sister Lily! Sister Lily! Yuno and Asta are home! Come look! Yuno and Asta are home!”

Matching smiles came to their faces, and they both turned to see their little sister Recca running towards them. Sighing in resignation, they waved and headed over to meet her.

Finral watched them go from the nearby forest, a smile on his face, before he left for real, heading back to his own home.

Back to the Black Bull’s Base.

Omake:

Yuno had just dragged himself from his bed to get a glass of water when a portal opened under his feet.

“What?! Unbelievable!” he’d just managed to splutter before he fell through, landing shoeless on the grass. Seconds late, another tiny portal popped open to spit out his shoes and a hastily packed bag. He sighed which then turned into a coughing fit. His throat had just finally stopped burning, and he’d gotten himself to start pulling on his shoes, sniffling miserably all the way, when he heard Asta of all people say his name, sounding as surprised and confused as he felt. He sniffed miserably again. It was going to be a long day, wasn’t it?


	2. Learned Limits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your kind comments and Kudos!

The shop door jingled as Klaus entered, and Finral looked up from his tea to wave him over. Klaus looked tired, the bags under his eyes making his face seem pinched and narrow, and he all but fell into his chair. It was quite the sight in a way. While Finral would not describe Klaus as a graceful man necessarily, the other always moved with a sort of studious, prim air, as if always conscious of his position as a noble and the expectations that came with. Finral could sympathize. He may not always act in a manner befitting the Vaude House—as his parents continually reminded him—but he thought that the marks of his upbringing still showed. In his smiles and careful words and perfect 45 degree bows.

“So, how was the trip?” Finral asked.

Klaus slumped against the table and rubbed his eyes. “Fine,” he murmured. “Long. It was mostly stakeout. Lots of watching and waiting and not sleeping.”

“Ah, you guys were tasked with tracking down some sort of black-market dealer, right? That’s a bit grunt work for someone of your experience, isn’t it?”

Klaus sighed. “Well I am in charge of the newbies this year, so it’s to be expected. Besides it’s not so much about experience but rank, isn’t it?” He muttered the last part bitterly before grimacing and looking away. “Sorry,” he said. “That was inappropriate. Lack of sleep talking.”

As if summoned by the words, the waitress arrived, handing Klaus something dark green and likely disgustingly bitter. He took it gratefully and gave it one quick blow before taking a large gulp.

Finral took a sip of his own tea as he thought of what to say. He could press the topic that had managed to draw such ire from his normally stoic tea-drinking companion or allow it to float on by.

He chose, of course, the path of least resistance.

“The drop off was a success. I’ll go and rescue the two of them from their break in a couple days.”

Klaus’ eyes glinted mischievously, and he looked a little more energetic as he grinned around his teacup. “Ah, that is good to hear.”

“Thanks for taking care of the paperwork for Yuno by the way. Are you sure you won’t get in trouble? I mean the Captain gave me the go ahead for Asta but…”

Klaus waved him off. “It’s no matter. The Golden Dawn is too big to keep tight tabs on its members and as his superior officer I have a lot of leeway on decisions regarding his deployment. Besides, considering how sick he was, I doubt anyone will contest my decision.”

“I suppose that’s true. He really didn’t look very good.”

Klaus sighed. “Mimosa did do some healing magic on him to help him recover some of his energy, but she said anything more was beyond her capabilities and it was up to his body to do the rest. He seemed quite put out about it, wouldn’t stop muttering about falling behind.”

Finral huffed a laugh. “Now where have I heard that before.”

“Hmm, yes,” Klaus nodded seriously, “they are both rather the same in that regard. I too hope to become more like them in my dedication to improve.”

Finral smiled softly. “Dedication to improve, huh?”

* * *

When he was a child, Finral had to try harder than anyone it felt like. His brother would master spells so easily, portals stable and knife-keen no matter how large they got. Meanwhile, Finral would stand in front of that fountain for hours—its glassy surface catching every detail from his teeth-worried lips and furrowed brows to how his portals, small and ice-thin, wobbled with his hands.

When Finral had first started practicing magic, he’d loved it. He loved how, when he twisted his hand, he could feel the cool slipperiness of space as he grasped onto it, like water running through his fingers. And how, when he squeezed his hand shut, it was like a current parting in front of him, leaving the air empty and hollow even before the first glowing spark of the portal ever appeared. More than anything, he loved watching the portal itself. How it danced in the air like light under water, or smoke trapped in glass.

Spatial magic was the most beautiful of them all, he’d thought up until he saw a Vaude House guard use it to sever an intruder’s leg.

It was so fast. One second nothing, then a curl of the guard’s finger, a shouted word, and the portal popped open—its purple, smoky light blinking for just a second before disappearing in a splatter and gush of blood.

And Finral realized then for the first time what exactly it was that he was training so hard to do.

It was harder after that. His parents praised Langris endlessly for his prodigious growth, and he wanted that, wanted their approval so badly. But then that intruder’s pained screams would echo in his ear and his hand would wobble and his portal fade away like the morning mist.

But still, he would practice every day. His hand would twist and tighten, the portal growing and growing until suddenly it wouldn’t anymore. He’d strain himself trying to push past that limit but then the edges would quiver, and the whole thing would fall apart, and he would groan and whine and squeeze his eyes shut and then he would try again. He would tell himself that sometimes violence was necessary. He would tell himself that he’d become strong enough so that he’d never have to hurt anyone like that.

But no matter how many times he said it, Finral could never really believe it. And no matter how much he practiced, nothing ever changed.

And one day as he stood there, staring at his reflection in the water, watching the shifting patterns of his portal dance in the shifting surface of the water, he realized that nothing ever would.

His amount of magic—so low for a noble, lower than his parents’, lower than his brother’s—would never change. And neither would his taste for battle. And Finral… he accepted that fact. If that meant he was useless, if that meant he was a coward, so be it. To pretend, to hang onto to some childish dream was foolish, and Finral was no fool. To see things as they were—to be able to analyze a situation and recognize the extent of your capabilities in it—was a skill he’d always prided himself on.

Some people were bad at cooking. Or directions. Finral was just useless in a fight. It was just another fact of life.

It wasn’t until after—after he joined the Black Bulls, after he met Yami, and Asta, after leaving behind that house and that fountain—that he realized that he’d miscalculated. That somewhere along the way those traits he’d thought made him mature had caused him to go astray. He had determined that because he could not fight the way Langris did, the way his parents wanted him too, that he could not fight at all, that his power would never amount to anything, be useful to anyone.

There is nothing wrong with knowing your limits, he still believed that.

But then…

_“You probably got your own way of fighting, right?”_

He supposed that there was nothing wrong with finding ways around them either.

* * *

Finral was feeding the beasts housed in the dungeon-like basement of the Black Bull’s Base when he heard muffled cursing floating up from the stairwell. Curious, he made his way over. He couldn’t be certain, given the that the base shifted its layout frequently, but he thought that this particular set of stairs led either to the training room, the laundry, or a Charmy-proof emergency pantry. The last was a recent addition and had yet to withstand any serious assaults. Personally, Finral wasn’t holding out much hope, but their finances demanded it.

_Seriously, _Finral thought to himself as he tramped down the stairs to investigate, _between the constant property damages and food bill how do those idiots expect this squad to keep running? I have to submit an expense report every month you know! And the last time I turned one in that very cute manager ending up grilling me for over a half an hour looking for anomalies!_

A startled shout and loud crash echoed from below, pulling him out of his rant, and he picked up the pace.

The stairs, it turned out, did in fact lead to the laundry room. Like most of the building, it was, walls to floors, made of stone. The room, itself, was almost entirely taken up by a large black cauldron, a thick purple substance burbling inside that emanated a faint magical glow. Affixed to the back wall were a bewildering array of levers, dials and buttons—the controls for said device. There was also, off to one side, a tall shelving unit holding a variety of softeners, soaps, and some things even Finral honestly wasn’t sure what they were used for. It was in front of this that he found one of their poor newbies, Noelle, collapsed in a heap on the ground, clutching her hip and cursing up a storm. A pile of laundry and a ladder lay at her feet.

“What happened here?” he exclaimed. At the sound of his voice, Noelle immediately clammed up, her spine snapping to attention as her face flushed red. “Finral!” she cried, scrambling to her feet with a faint wince. She gave herself an entirely unnecessary dust off and then crossed her arms, refusing to make eye contact as she clearly tried to regain a more noble air. “What are you doing down here?”

Finral raised an eyebrow, bemused. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that? All that noise you were making is what brought me down here in the first place.”

She flicked her hair back and lifted her nose in the air. “Well laundry of course. This is a laundry room after all.”

“And the ladder?”

She huffed. “Someone left the soap on the tallest shelf. Probably Gauche or Captain Yami. Tall idiots!” she muttered the last part to herself, but Finral caught it and couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped. Noelle’s face flushed red again at the sound, her shoulders tightening and her face stiffening. She carefully straightened her stance and lifted her head even higher. Finral felt his good humor drain away. It wasn’t rare to hear insults or rants come from Noelle’s mouth, especially when Asta was around, but sometimes, like now, she’d suddenly get very reserved like she was remembering she wasn’t supposed to speak so casually. Stiffening like someone had whispered into her ear…

_“Remember your place.” Langris’ eyes bored into him, and the air between them felt impossibly wide and… Empty. Like spatial magic had rent the space connecting them, leaving it cold and dead. “You’re just a pack mule, House Vaude’s failed son.”_

Finral bit his lip, using the dull pain to will the memory away. Noelle never talked about her family. He thought sometimes that maybe he understood why. After all, he never talked about his either.

By this point, Noelle had finished picking up everything that had dropped and turned her cold gaze on him. “Well as you can see, I’m fine. No intruders or anything of like. So you can go now. Sorry to waste your time,” she said, making little shooing gestures like he was an annoying puppy or something.

_Seriously. This damn guild doesn’t even know the meaning of respect for your seniors! _ Finral thought with a flash of annoyance as Noelle whirled around, righted the ladder and stalked to the wall with all of the controls on it.

Finral was about to turn around himself and head up the stairs when he noticed that Noelle had yet to do anything but stare at the wall with a sort of helpless determination. He frowned. “Noelle,” he began carefully, “Do you… Not know how to use the washing cauldron?”

Her entire form jolted. “Of-of course I know how to use it!” She exclaimed. “I- I was just thinking about which sort of cycle I should use, that’s all!”

_Oh, I’m sure._ Resisting the urge to give a sarcastic retort, he kept his voice gentle, trying not to hurt her feelings or put her even more on the defensive. “Really?” he asked. “Because it took me a while to figure out how to do my laundry when I first came here,” he said, stepping forward to come stand next to her. “I actually ruined a whole batch of clothes,” he admitted, letting out a sheepish laugh. “I put in something I thought was soap, and it turned the whole batch orange.”

“Oh? Is that so?” she said, trying to sound disinterested, but he could see her glancing at him sidelong, eyes bright and attentive.

He nodded. “Yep! After all, it’s not something anybody really bothers to teach you when you’re raised in a noble family.”

He face softened at that, shoulders relaxing slightly. “No,” she agreed, and Finral felt a large, relieved smile sweep across his face. “No, it is not.”

“Right?!” He cheered and taking the soap from her began zipping around the room showing her all the different switches on the wall. “So use this one if you want some extra washing for those really bad stains. This one kickstarts the whole thing when you’re done picking your settings. Here’s how you choose the drying temperature…” He proceeded to explain every controls’ function in detail, including his own preferred settings and the best way to put your clothes in without getting the cauldron’s strange purple washing liquid all over yourself.

Finral felt something warm blossom in his heart as he watched her cautiously slide her clothes into the water and throw the switches just like he taught her.

Noelle and Klaus and him—they’d all learned their limits in the past. They’d all learned their place—a rank in the world that could never go up or down, that they could never change. That hasn’t changed.

Not yet.

But…

_I want to do better. _He thought as Noelle glanced at him with excited eyes and a proud, wobbly grin as the washing cauldron whirled to life. _I want to be better. For them. With them. If could just find the courage… If I could just reach out my hand, twist, and squeeze…_

_What sort of place could I reach?_


	3. The Rhapsody Requiem of an Older Sibling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the kind kudos and comments!
> 
> Quick sidenote: The events of this fic do take place before the Royal Knights Test.

“Oi, hurry up! The more time I waste here, the less time I have to spend with my precious Marie.” Gauche said, staring down at Finral impatiently as he collapsed under a tree to rest. The two were in a forest, mission already completed, and small village saved.

Finral rubbed his face tiredly. “For the last time, I am _completely_ out of magic. You’re just going to have to wait until I get some energy back. And use politer speech with your senpais!” he snapped out much louder than he intended. However, Gauche only grumbled to himself under his breath and found his own tree to sit under. Finral sighed, relieved. The day’s mission had been an exhausting mixture of harebrained and harrowing, and Finral was down to his last straw. If he got into a disagreement with Gauche now, he’d snap for sure.

Stretching his neck to loosen some of the tension, Finral leaned back against the trunk and whiled away the minutes watching the clouds drift by. It was surprisingly quiet and peaceful, and he chanced a glance at the other man to confirm that, yep, Gauche already had his picture of Marie out and was staring at it intently.

Finral huffed and rolled his eyes. Same old, same old. He thought dismissively but then paused. There was something different about Gauche’s expression today as he stared at his little sister, gap-toothed and grinning. It was softer—sadder.

It looked how Finral felt whenever he thought of Langris.

So why did perfect big brother Gauche have it?

* * *

By the time he dropped Gauche off at the church where his precious Marie was staying, he was ready to wash his hands of the man. Gauche seemed to be in an even worse mood today than usual, and Finral was sure that if he stayed in the man’s presence any longer, he’d burst.

Escaping into the city, Finral was met with a lively festiveness he hadn’t been expecting. Families cluttered the streets, little children clutching the hands of their parents as they stared distractedly at the colorful lanterns and ribbons that had been strung across the buildings. A nearby flower-shop bustled with business, its storefront clogged with customers vying for roses or freshly cut lilies. Finral frowned, confused by the unusually boisterous atmosphere. A little girl suddenly detached from the crowd and cut across the road right in front of him, a hard-won carnation in hand. Her father, following at a sedate pace behind her, nodded an apology to Finral on his daughter’s behalf. “Happy Mother’s Day!” the little girl cried thrusting the flower into her mother’s hands.

A jolt went through Finral. _Is it really? Already?_

That he’d forgotten the day was not surprising. He had never really celebrated Mother’s Day even when he had been living at home. And then, after Langris had been declared heir, he’d never been able to work up the courage to return home at all—not even for the bigger holidays like the Harvest Festival or Yuletide—let alone for Mother’s or Father’s Day. Besides even if he could…

He wasn’t sure he wanted to.

But even so, Final couldn’t help but wonder what the rest of his family was doing right now. Wondered if Langris had returned home today, greeted his parents. Wondered if they were sitting around a table right now eating dinner together. The image was hard to imagine. His family had never been that close. Though now that he was gone, maybe things had changed? 

_Doubtful, _he thought. As much as they had liked to fawn over Langris as loudly as possibly, they had never really had time for either brother. Not really.

_Maybe that’s why Langris became such an arrogant jerk,_ he thought to himself, kicking a rock and watching it ricochet down the street. _They could never be bothered to pay attention to us. Never took the time to teach Langris anything or discipline him properly. _If anything, they’d encouraged his bad behavior, praising him endlessly over his powers even when he destroyed things with it.

Maybe things would have been different if Finral had been a little more outspoken. A little more assertive. Especially around Langris. If he had scolded his brother properly or led by example the way a big brother should, maybe Langris would have turned out better. More humble. Kinder. Less overconfident. But Finral had always been a veritable doormat most of his life and that had earned him no respect in his brother’s eyes and so Langris had never listened to a word Finral said.

And that…

_That’s a shame_, Finral thought to himself. Because if Langris could look past himself, he could be so much _more. _A better vice-captain for the Golden Dawn, a better heir for House Vaude. And Finral wanted that for him. Rather than a face perpetually twisted in anger or eyes hard with scorn, he wanted his little brother to smile. To rest at ease _for once _in his life and know he was surrounded—not by subordinates, or rivals—but by friends.

A group of laughing children ran past, a kite trailing in their wake, and the sight of Marie running out to meet Gauche today flashed through Finral’s mind. She had looked up at her brother with these big, shining eyes—like he had hung the moon in the sky.

Something crawled unpleasantly in Finral’s stomach—jealously, he guessed, for something he knew he’d never have.

* * *

Finral was about to turn around and head back when he caught sight of a familiar shock of red hair in the crowd. His mood instantly cheered, a flirty grin spreading across his face as he approached. “Why hello, Ms. Rebecca. Fancy seeing you here.” He wished he had grabbed one of those flowers earlier so he could produce it now with a flourish. Alas for poor foresight.

Rebecca, lacking for once the posse of little siblings generally swarming her, cast him a blank look and adjusted one of her shopping bags to rest higher on her waist. Her face was completely void of recognition—a blow, he’d freely admit, to his ego.

“The group blind date a couple weeks ago,” he gently reminded her. “I was paired up with Erica.”

Her face brightened. “Oh, yes! One of Asta’s teammates from the Black Bulls! It’s good to see you again…” she trailed off uncertainly.

“Finral.”

“Yes, yes, that’s right,” she exclaimed, looking embarrassed by this whole mess of a conversation. “How is Asta doing by the way?”

“Oh, good. Very good. He actually just got back from a short leave, so he’s been more energetic than ever lately.”

“Oh. Well that’s nice.”

“Yep.” _Awkward! This is so awkward. _He cast about for anything else to talk about. “What about you? How are your siblings? I noticed they’re not here with you today.”

“Oh yeah. They’re umm… They’re playing at the church today. Sister Theresa promised to watch over them for me while I got some shopping done,” Rebecca said, beginning to shift in place, clearly hoping to be done with the conversation and on her way.

Finral though—surprised that she also knew Sister Theresa—couldn’t help but comment, “Oh! I must’ve just missed them. I have a… friend who’s visiting his sister there today, and I’m his… ride I guess you could say. I was actually just about to head back.” He rubbed the back of his neck, posture slumping shyly inwards a little bit. “Are you going that way as well?”

“I mean I just finished so yeah I guess so.”

“I could help carry some of those bags for you if you’d like.” Rebecca hesitated, looking like was about to reject his offer before reconsidering and handing one over with a shrug. Finral’s arms immediately sunk under the weight, and he marveled that she’d been carrying it one-handedly till then with such apparent ease. They started off, Rebecca eyeing the bag Finral was carrying a little nervously as if afraid he’d drop it. He might’ve have found her lack of faith disappointing if he wasn’t so afraid of it himself.

“Wow,” he exclaimed, hoping to get her to warm up to him a little. “Super strong and good with children. You’re like a hero.”

She arched a brow at him, not impressed by the thick flattery. “I wouldn’t go that far,” she said. “I just try to do my best for them.”

His chest panged a little and his energetic smile softened into something gentler. “I’m sure your siblings are happy to have a big sister as great as you.”

Something dark flickered in her eyes at that, and she looked away as the smile that had been slowly growing on her lips down-turned slightly. “Thanks,” she said, and Finral followed her gaze to where she was watching a couple stroll down the street, swinging their child between their arms.

For a moment, the two of them watched the family pass by without saying a word, a sense of quiet longing in the air.

“I have a little brother myself.” Finral heard himself say softly. Like he was admitting a secret.

Rebecca looked at him then for the first time with a hint of real interest, but it didn’t make him happy or excited the way it normally would. “Do you really?”

He nodded. “We don’t get along very well though, I’m afraid,” he said and laughed like it was a little, silly thing even though it didn’t feel that way at all.

Maybe she saw through that though, because she said quite sincerely—so sincerely that he couldn’t bear to smile or laugh it off like he was wont to— “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah,” he murmured quietly. “Me too.” And then impulsively. “I just wish I could’ve done _more,_ you know?”

“Of course,” she said matter-of-factly. “When it’s family, we all do.”

Finral swallowed, throat suddenly feeling pinched and tight.

We all do.

He thought of Rebecca, one child in her arms and another hanging off her back and more clutching her skirts.

He thought of Gauche staring sadly at Marie’s picture.

Yeah, we all do.

And that didn’t make it better per say. But their eyes met, and a kind of recognition passed between them of shared camaraderie. And it felt easier then somehow.

It was okay for Finral to love his little brother even though he felt like he failed him.

It was okay for Finral to love his little brother even though Langris didn’t love him back.

He coughed, trying to get his heart out of his throat so he could breathe again, and blinked his burning eyes determinedly. “So,” he said, trying to change the topic to less emotionally comprising territory. “You’re friends with Sister Theresa?”

Rebecca nodded. “Yeah, she’s been very kind to us over the past couple of years. She’ll watch the little ones for me sometimes if I have to go to work or run errands.”

Finral smiled. “She is pretty amazing,” he agreed, remembering the sight of her berating Gauche in that cave, pulling his ear and cussing up a storm, not taking any of his shit. The memory sparked an idea in his head, and he looked around till he spotted a bakery shop nearby.

“Hey, ah… Do you mind waiting for me for a minute?” He asked turning towards Rebecca. “I want to pick up something real fast.”

* * *

When they finally made their way back to the church, Rebecca was immediately swarmed by her little siblings—Marie, who had been playing with them all before she arrived, in their midst.

Finral looked around for Gauche and found him sitting a little distance away on one of the stone steps leading up to the church, watching the group quietly. He sat down next to him and then waited tensely to see if Gauche would actually allow him to. (That man had a personal-space bubble a mile wide for anyone not his sister.) Gauche didn’t say anything though, just continued to watch his little sister as she peppered Rebecca with questions, Sister Theresa coming up from behind and watching them all indulgently.

“Here,” Finral said without preamble and shoved a bag into the other man’s arms.

“Huh?” Gauche growled, annoyed at the sudden disruption. “What’s this?” He tore it open and frowned in confusion. “Pastries?”

“It’s Mother’s Day,” Finral said, “And there’s a mother standing just over there who deserves a little celebrating today, don’t you think?”

“What mother!” he growled angrily.

Finral suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. “Your mother,” he retorted, before he could properly think about how likely such a sentence would get him killed.

“As if!” Gauche snapped angrily.

Finral really did roll his eyes then. He’d already pissed the man off, he figured, so what’s the harm in running his mouth a little more. “Yes, she is,” he said. “And she’s right over there, watching over your little sister.”

Gauche’s mouth worked silently for a moment. He kinda looked like a fish, and it would’ve been really funny if Finral wasn’t about to die. In fact, Finral was fully prepared to flee, already drawing the necessary magic to himself, when he was surprised by the man slumping in place and muttering something darkly under his breath, rather than grabbing for Finral to shake him like a rag doll.

“What was that?” Finral asked, out of an unhealthy sense of curiosity.

“If we had a mother, she wouldn’t need to ask me how to braid her hair!” Gauche snapped and then promptly looked startled like he hadn’t meant to admit that to Finral.

Finral gulped—he was treading on very, _very_ thin ice—and raised his hands in the air like he was dealing with a feral animal, asking carefully, “Marie asked you to braid her hair?”

Gauche sighed and all the fight seemed to go out of him. He rubbed his face with his hands, and suddenly he just looked tired. “Yeah,” he said, voice rough. “She asked me, and I couldn’t do it. Mom knew how to. She used to wear her hair up all the time, but I don’t. I can’t…” He made an aggravated noise. “I can’t teach her things like that. Things like braids or makeup or shit like that. I can’t even be here on a consistent basis! I—” He ran his fingers raggedly through his hair. “It’s not enough,” he said hoarsely. “It’s not enough.”

Finral was frozen in shock. This was the most un-put together and vulnerable he had ever seen Gauche, and he wasn’t sure what to do. One wrong misstep and he could hurt the man for real, not to mention Gauche could totally drop-kick him into tomorrow. He chewed his lips and thought carefully. What should he say?

What did he want people to say? When he thought of his relationship with Langris, his attempts to connect with him, what did he wish to hear?

“No,” he began slowly. “It’s not perfect, but it is enough.”

Gauche’s eyes drilled into him. He frowned. Opened his mouth. Closed it again. He looked torn like he wanted to believe Finral but couldn’t at the same time.

“Besides,” Finral continued on, crossing his arms. “It’s not like you’re alone either. You've got Sister Theresa and Captain Yami and the rest of the Black Bulls. And me.” He laughed embarrassedly. “I may not be able to do much myself, but I do know how to braid hair if you want me to teach you.”

Gauche continued to stare at him for a beat longer and then he stood abruptly. Finral tensed but Gauche stalked right past him and began heading over to the rest of the group. “I’ll pay you back later,” he said, lifting up the bag of pastries as explanation.

Finral, in a sudden moment of cheekiness—because hey, he wasn’t dead yet—called out to him. “I’m free any time Monday night for lessons!”

Finral is positive that Gauche would’ve flipped him off if Marie hadn’t been there. As it was though, he settled for a fierce glare and a few choice muttered words before stalking over to the rest of the group and practically shoving the bag in Sister Theresa’s arms, shouting something along the lines of, “Happy Mother’s Day, you old hag.” This sparked off another round of their infamous bickering. But some of the tension finally eased from Gauche’s shoulders as they went at it. And Finral had never seen a woman look so happy as Sister Theresa did as she twisted Gauche’s ear and called him an uppity, little brat.

As for Marie, who stood sandwiched between the two as she tried to meditate the fight—or egg the two of them on; it was hard to tell from this distance—well, she seemed pretty happy too.

* * *

Finral waited by the portal he’d created as Gauche made his goodbyes, hugging tightly to Marie and “reluctantly” receiving a hug from Sister Theresa. Eventually, he managed to tear himself away from the two with a few last goodbyes and a promise to Marie to visit soon. As he passed through Finral’s portal, he paused just long enough to mutter, “So what are you getting Captain Yami for Father’s Day then?”

Finral blinked, gaped, and could only watch speechless as Gauche— looking supremely pleased with himself—disappeared through the portal.

He stood there dumbly for a second, brain rebooting itself, and then couldn’t help but laugh. “Father’s Day, huh?” His lips quirked slightly. “That just might not be a bad idea,” he murmured softly.

Then another thought occurred to him, and his lips curved wickedly. He called out, fearlessly given the absence of her overprotective big brother, “Hey Marie!”

The girl looked over at him curiously. “Yes?”

“Well, you don’t have to,” he began, “but there’s something you could do that I’m sure would make your big brother really happy.”

* * *

The next month passed by quickly. Gauche, after two weeks of stubbornly pretending he didn’t exist, took Finral up on his offer and started sneaking into his room at night to practice. The man was a quick study, and the next time Finral went to pick him up from one of his visits with Marie— a habit Finral was taking care to quietly encourage in-between missions—the girl had her hair pulled back in a well-woven braid and a beaming smile on her face. There was a matching, but much sloppier, braid in Gauche’s hair that the man refused to take out even as he glared daggers at anyone who so much as looked at it, daring them to say anything.

And then Father’s Day arrived.

“What’s all this?” Captain Yami asked as he entered the living area of the Black Bull’s Base to find the whole place decked out for a celebration, with enough food and alcohol to satisfy (hopefully) even Charmy’s voracious appetite.

“Nothing Captain. We just think you’ve been doing some great work recently, and this is a kind of thank you for all that you’ve done for us over the years,” Finral smoothly fed him the same story he’d given the rest of the Bulls when he’d suggested the party in the first place.

They had all bought it then easily enough even as he steadfastly ignored the knowing smirk he could feel Gauche directing at his back the entire time. Not to mention the teasing he’d endured afterwards. (It was no matter though. He’d get his revenge soon enough.) Plus, he had to admit, of all of them, Gauche seemed the most invested in helping him out with the preparations even as he vehemently pretended otherwise.

Yami eyed them all silently for a minute, clearly suspicious. But in the end, he shrugged it away with a sigh and cracked open one of the ale barrels to fill up a mug.

“Cheers then I guess,” he said, raising his glass, and taking a large swig.

The room erupted into excited shouting and laughter, and everyone else followed suit.

* * *

That night, Gauche stumbled into his room, very definitely drunk and about fifty percent sure Vanessa had cheated at cards somehow. He was surprised to find a piece of paper and a pink rose resting on top of his bed. Picking up the flower, he inspected the paper curiously. It was a picture, a bit crudely drawn—obviously the work of a child—with three stick figures on it. Two bigger ones holding between them a smaller figure. Written over them were the words: Big Brother, Sister Theresa, Me.

Gauche stared at it silently for a while, clutching the rose close to his chest, before leaving to find a vase and a picture frame.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pink roses stand for love, appreciation, and gratitude.
> 
> Finral: Does nice thing.  
Gauche: Aggressively does nice thing in return and pretends not too.  
Finral: Aggressively does nice thing back.  
Thus, the vicious (?) cycle continues.


	4. In fighting, I found them. In silence, we were lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the kudos and comments!
> 
> Kinda SPOILER warning. There are no spoilers for the plot in this chapter beyond what I’ve already tagged, but I will explore dynamics of Langris and Finral’s relationship that aren’t really touched on until the Royal Knight’s Test Arc so, if you don’t want that spoiled for you, don’t read the Omake at the end.

“Wahoo!” Luck cheered as he kicked off a wall and planted his foot firmly in his opponent’s face. The man went down, and Luck spring-boarded off him towards his next victim. Finral watched from a healthy distance back, offering support wherever he could. There wasn’t much for him to do though as Luck tore through their enemies like a whirlwind, Magna not far behind, picking off the survivors with well-aimed fireballs.

Luck laughed as he smashed a foot crackling with lightning into a man’s face, and Finral couldn’t help but grimace. He never understood the joy Luck derived from fighting. Punching people makes your fist hurt. Kicking people brings an ache to your leg.

Seeing others bleed makes something heavy and cold crawl along his stomach.

Best to stand a safe distance away. Where he couldn’t see the red. Where he could pretend he wasn’t using his magic to hurt others—or to help others hurt others.

Noticing a green ray of light flying for Luck’s back, Finral opened a portal in its path, redirecting it to slam into another one of the attacking mages. The man’s groan of pain as he went down was muffled by the distance and the shouting and explosions of magic. It might not have happened at all. Perhaps it didn’t.

Luck, noticing the help, flashed Finral his usual crazed smile and an enthusiastic thumbs up, before smashing into his next opponent.

* * *

“He’s too crazy!” Finral complained. “Always jumping around and charging in before someone can even suggest _making_ a plan.”

Klaus nodded in sympathy, made as if to respond but Finral, to heated to notice, cut him off. “And he’s terrible at communication. At the very least, if he told us _who_ he was going to go after, we could plan around him, but no!” he exclaimed, throwing up his hands. “Instead he has to spring all over the battlefield like the world’s most bloodthirsty butterfly or some—”

Klaus—who had been about to take another sip of his tea—let out a surprised snort that melted into a coughing fit and set his tea sloshing around.

“Vicious electric grasshopper.” Finral finished and patted his shoulder distractedly. “Do be careful. Anyhow, this last time, he charged in like he always does…” He continued on, absentmindedly plucking Klaus’ teacup out of his hands to exchange with a cloth napkin that the man began using to mop up his spilled tea.

“…And of course it was an ambush, and we were all almost captured, and really the whole thing could’ve been avoided if he had just taken a second and _waited_,” Finral huffed, wringing the soaked napkin out into a portal.

Klaus blinked down in confusion at the teacup that was somehow back in his hands. _When had he…?_

Finral sighed. “It just gets on my nerves, you know? What about you, Klaus? How are your juniors getting along?”

“Eh?” Klaus jolted, looking up from the teacup he was still staring at with round eyes. “Oh, umm… Fine, I suppose. Yuno was pretty much all healed up once he got back from his forced leave, and Mimosa is as sprightly as ever.”

“Yes, yes that’s all good.” Finral said with a wave of his hand. “But I meant are they listening to you? Do they follow your directions?”

Klaus’ brows furrowed together in thought. “Yes? No? Kind of?”

Finral arched one of his perfectly plucked eyebrows.

“Well… they listen.” Klaus began, “And most of the time, they follow my orders.” He frowned. “If not the spirit of them. But Finral,” he said, looking at the man earnestly. “You never really struck me as a stickler for orders yourself. You complain about your captain’s harebrained schemes all the time, and honestly, from what I’ve seen, the Black Bulls in general are bad when it comes to authority so…” He paused, nursing his tea while he considered what he wanted to say. “Are you sure,” he began carefully, “that there’s nothing else bothering you?”

Finral looked down and played restlessly with his teacup. “You’ve heard some of Luck’s nicknames, right?” he asked after a long pause.

“I know a few, yes. The Smiling Combat Fiend. Luck the Cheery Berserker.”

“Well, I’m sure you know—You’ve fought with him too after all; In that dungeon raid where the Diamond Kingdom got involved—but those names are pretty accurate, right? Even after _years_ of serving in the same squad, I don’t think I have ever seen him not smiling.”

Klaus looked at him steadily, gaze open and voice blessedly neutral. “Does that bother you?”

Finral laughed a bit. “Honestly, it really did at first. It made me so uncomfortable I couldn’t stand to be alone in the same room as him. The thing about Luck, you see, is that his magical aura always seems to have a hint of bloodlust in it. Kept triggering the flight part of my fight-or-flight instincts, I guess,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “After a while though, I got used to it. Now it’s just Luck. I couldn’t imagine him with any other expression if I tried.”

“So, what’s the problem?” Klaus prodded gently.

“It’s just…” Finral shook his head in disbelief. “How can he look so happy all the time? Even when he’s fighting. Especially when he’s fighting! It’s just not natural,” he huffed, taking an exasperated bite out of his scone.

Klaus sipped his tea thoughtfully. “I don’t know,” he said in the end, shrugging his shoulders. “But why don’t you try talking to him about that? He’s probably the best to ask.”

Finral blinked, a little thrown by the response, before he laughed and rubbed the back of his neck. “As if I could work up the courage to say that to his face!”

* * *

Though it was still only the tail end of summer, there was a brisk wind today that made it feel like fall. Despite this, the shopping district was as packed as ever, herds of people shopping for items, selling wares, or, in Finral’s case, trying to pick up girls. The latter would be going a lot better if not for his inconvenient tag-a-long.

“Whoa, he looks pretty strong. Think he’d fight me if I asked?” Luck chirped, his energetic spirit not at all dimmed by the cold.

Finral followed Luck’s eye and paled, grabbing the other by the scruff of his neck and dragging him away. “Absolutely not,” he hissed. “First of all, you cannot start a fight here. Something or _someone _will get hurt, and the Black Bulls have enough negative stars as it is! Besides, didn’t you see his uniform?! That was a Knight of _the _Golden Dawn. That would be like attacking a comrade, okay Luck?”

The boy in question didn’t stop smiling once throughout his desperate explanation, and only pointed behind Finral curiously when he was done. “Then how about him?”

Finral turned his head and felt the blood seep from his face and his whole body go cold. His grip loosened, and Luck’s black cloak fluttered from his grasp.

“L-Langris,” he stuttered.

His brother hadn’t changed since the last time he’d seen him, right after the Diamond force’s attack. His stare was still the same glacier blue as the fountain back home. His voice still gave angry intent to each syllable of his title. “_Nii-san_,” he said. Like it was insult. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Maybe it was. It felt like it. Like he was slapping a reminder of all Finral’s failings in his face with that one word.

His chest panged at the thought, and his throat squeezed uncomfortably. He laughed nervously to clear it. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it? How are you doing?” He considered adding little brother to the end, but then thought better of it. It would only upset him.

Luck was looking between them excitedly, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet like he was on a sugar rush. “You know him, Finral? He’s pretty strong. Think he’d want to fight me? Well? Would he?”

Finral placed at hand distractedly on Luck’s head as if to soothe an excitable child, and, surprisingly enough, Luck settled down. If staring at Langris with wide eyes and twitching fingers could be considered settling down that is. “I know him,” Finral told him evenly. “This is Langris, my…” he hesitated. No helping it he guessed. “Little brother. Langris, this is Luck, one of my squad-mates.”

Sure enough, Langris’ expression twisted at ‘little brother.’ Disgusted, perhaps, to be reminded of their relation. Luck’s name, meanwhile, gained a brief flicker of… something. Recognition probably. Respect…extremely unlikely.

“He’s your little brother, Finral?” Luck asked, cocking his head questioningly. His grin widened. “If he’s related to you, then he must be really strong!”

Finral wasn’t sure who was more shocked by the statement—him or Langris. The latter’s face had turned an interesting shade of purple, not at all happy at being compared to his failure of a brother. “How laughable. Finral, strong? Don’t compare me to him.”

“Finral is strong though,” Luck said. “Sure, I’ve seen sewer rats with more impressive auras. And he gets scared really easily, and sometimes, his joints go all wobbly like those street show puppets.”

_Okay, ouch._

“But still,” Luck said, and there was a bloodthirsty, vicious edge to his smile that Finral had only ever seen during battle. “Finral is strong. He has the best control and stamina out of everyone in the Black Bulls. Well,” he quirked his head a bit, “except for maybe Vanessa.” Luck looked at Finral with disconcertingly innocent, round eyes. “Haven’t you told him about any of your victories? My mom was really proud when she heard about me win. That’s why it’s so much fun!”

“Well,” Finral spluttered, caught off guard and keenly aware of his brother’s piercing stare on him. “They weren’t really my victories. Asta did most of the work, you know?”

“Hmm?” Luck hummed confusedly. “But a win is still a win, isn’t it?”

Finral couldn’t think of answer to that, and a disdainful scoff stopped him before he could try. “Enough of this ridiculousness,” Langris muttered, and, with a turn of his heel and a swirl of his cape, he was stalking away. “I’m sure I’ll see you around,” he called over his shoulder, “my black sheep of a brother.”

And then he was gone, vanished into the crowd.

“Aww he left,” Luck cried. “I didn’t even get to fight him!” Finral eyed the boy suspiciously. Maybe it was just the smile making Luck as hard to read as usual, but he didn’t seem all that disappointed. In fact, there was a little glint to his eyes that, if he didn’t know better, Finral would say looked kind of smug.

* * *

An hour later, the incident had been mostly put behind them. Both boys were laden with groceries. Luck, carrying almost twice the amount Finral was and skipping to boot. Finral would’ve been jealous if he wasn’t too busy dealing with feelings.

It had been a bad shock—seeing Langris again. He hadn’t expected to run into him here. Not out of the blue.

He hadn’t changed at all though. Still so angry and disgusted and dismissive.

And young. He’d looked young. Shoulders too small for the heavy, golden mantle of his squad; face too childish for such pinched eyes and sallow cheeks.

Luck began humming beside him and that combined with the skipping and the smiling reminded Finral, like a bucket of cold water, that he was young too, wasn’t he? Younger even than his brother.

Too young to be fighting in wars with a blood-crazed smile on his face.

He shivered. “Ah,” he complained loudly, trying to distract himself from his earlier thoughts. “It’s so cold out today.”

“Is it?” Luck asked, not meanly but like he really couldn’t feel it. _Of course he’s fine, that battle monster. And here I am, cold down to the tips of my fingers. _Then again, Finral had to concede, his hands were always cold. It ran in the family apparently. His father used to joke that it came from ripping voids in space open with their bare hands. Langris used to complain about his hands all the time, was always so diligent to wear gloves in the winter so his skin wouldn’t dry out and crack. Finral frowned to himself. _And I’m back to Langris again. _

“Why did you come with me today, Luck?” Finral asked, trying to manually shift gears.

The boy shrugged. “No reason. Just felt like it. Besides Magna and Asta are gone today so there was no one to spar with. But,” and here his smile widened. “Magna promised we could fight again as soon as he got back so I’m looking forward to it!”

Maybe it was because he had been looking directly at Luck for once when it happened. Maybe it was the memory of Langris’ hands. Whatever the reason, at that moment, Finral noticed for the first time how ridiculously chapped Luck’s lips were.

The cracks only worsened when he smiled wider. And there—right there—wasn’t that a bit of dried blood congealing in the corner of his mouth?

Finral had then a quiet sort of revelation.

To smile, every day, continually, like Luck was all the time must hurt. It must hurt terribly. 

As this thought played out in his mind, a familiar sign flashed in the corner of his eyes—a cat riding on a broomstick, a newt dangling from its mouth.

“Hey,” he said suddenly. “Let’s go in there and warm up. The tea is really good. My treat.”

Luck shrugged, not seeming fazed by the sudden change of plans and made no protest as he followed Finral inside.

The waitress, now well familiar with him, greeted him cheerfully when he walked in. His and Klaus’ usual table wasn’t open—it seems the café was a lot more packed at this time of day—so she led them to a different one closer to the windows.

Luck kicked his feet as he stared at the menu, scanning the list of tea flavors silently but with bright eyes.

“Any idea what you want, Luck?” Finral asked hesitantly after a bit.

The boy shrugged. “Well, I don’t think I’ve ever had tea before so I’m not sure what’s good.”

“Oh?” Finral supposed that wasn’t too surprising. Tea had just been a thing he’d drunk for so long he couldn’t help but find it odd for someone to have never had it before. “Well, what do you like? If you’re a fan of sweet things, then I’d recommend their peach or rose hip tea. If you’d like something stronger,” his nose wrinkled, “then there’s things like Chai or Matcha.”

“Hmm…” Luck hummed as he looked them over. All of the sudden, he jolted upright. “Peppermint!” he cried excitedly.

“Huh? Oh yes, I suppose they do have that. It’s more of a winter tea though so I’m surprised they have it on here.”

“I like peppermint,” Luck declared with an air of finality and so peppermint they got.

Finral smiled softly when the tea arrived, delighting in the warmth that seeped into his fingers as they wrapped around the cup. Tea had never failed to warm his cold hands. He watched the warm steam rise into the air. Maybe it would help soothe Luck’s pains too.

“Well?” he asked curiously, glancing up to take stock. “How is…” The words died in his throat. Luck was staring out the window as he sipped his tea, eyes distant. Somehow like that—with his lips ghosting over the delicately painted ceramic—his smile seemed the softest Finral had ever seen it before.

_Oh._

_I didn’t know Luck could look so…_

_Peaceful._

Then Luck’s eyes flickered over to meet Finral’s, and his grin widened, but there was still no bloodlust in it. “This tea tastes really good, Finral!” he exclaimed. “Like the peppermints my mom used to give me during the Yuletide celebration.”

“I- I’m glad.” Finral said, still feeling a little blown away. “Hey, Luck,” he began before he could think better of it. “Could I ask you a question?”

“Sure!”

“Why do you like fighting?”

Luck, in true Luck fashion, didn’t even bat an eye at the question. “Because winning is fun!” he exclaimed. “When you win, it makes the people you care about happy. So I want to keep winning and going up against strong people so I can get stronger too!”

“It makes people happy, huh?” Finral thought of his own parents, of Langris, and his grip tightened on his teacup. “What about you, Luck?” he asked. “Does it make you happy?”

For the first time, Luck seemed a little taken aback by the question, like it wasn’t something he’d ever considered before, but then his smile came back a hundredfold. He nodded once—bright and without hesitation. “Yep!” he chirped. “After all I’ve met so many cool people through fighting. The captain, and Magna, and Asta, and everyone in the Black Bulls.”

Finral laughed a little. “Am I included in that list?”

“Well, yeah. You’re an important member of the Black Bulls too after all.”

Finral felt his eyes actually water a little at that and quickly snagged a bite of his pastry to delay a response until he was sure he wouldn’t cry giving it. Finally, he managed a quiet “Thank you.”

Luck just hummed happily and continued sipping his tea. And maybe it was just his imagination but Finral thought his mouth was looking a little bit better too.

There wasn’t much conversation after that but as they were leaving the store, Luck paused for a moment to look back. “This was kind of fun. We should come back here again sometime.”

Finral gave a smile that could rival Luck’s own. “Just wait,” he said. “I’ll make a tea connoisseur out of you in no time!”

The two began heading back. The air between them felt strangely peaceful—tranquil even. Not an emotion he usually associated with Luck. And as they walked, Finral couldn’t help but think about the conversation they had in the café.

Fighting didn’t make Finral happy. It probably never would. And that was alright, Finral decided.

_But, _he thought as he remembered the fierce smile Luck had defended him with, the people he had met through fighting, through his duties as a Black Bull—the captain, and Vanessa, and Asta, Luck, Magna, Charmy, Grey, Noelle, Gordon, Gauche (disrespectful junior though he may be), even Klaus—they all made him happy. And maybe that was enough.

Finral didn’t like fighting, but he had people worth fighting for.

* * *

A month or so later, Luck was surprised to find a little jar waiting for him on his bed after coming home from a mission. The small note resting on top of it simply read: _For you. Lip balm._ Luck popped off the cork top and dipped in a finger. It was filled with a pale cream, cool to touch. He brought it up to his nose and sniffed it curiously.

It smelled faintly of peppermint.

Omake:

Langris was fuming after his run-in with Finral, pushing his way through the crowd. Blood roared in his ears. His skin crawled. Too noisy. Too many people. He needed to get out. Needed to be somewhere else. His hand slashed through the air, and he stepped through the tear in space with hardly a thought to the colleagues he’d just left behind.

The portal led out into a garden. It was completely abandoned today—unsurprising given the lackluster weather—leaving Langris free to collapse into a bed of geraniums without any prying eyes there to judge him.

The image of Finral pale-faced, staring at him, mouth agape like an idiot, swam to the front of his mind, and his hands clenched until his knuckles whitened.

Just seeing him standing there, wearing his black cloak innocently like it wasn’t a mark of shame, had been enough to loose within Langris a swirling tidal wave of rage and fury—so automatic, it might as well have been unconscious.

How dare he still try to play big brother. After he left.

_You never cared about your family or your responsibilities, did you?_ Langris thought spitefully, fingers digging into the cool, wet dirt. _You were all too happy to let them dump it on me and never look back. What? Did you think you were too good for me?_

And then there had been that stupid kid with him. Luck. The one everyone called the Combat Fiend. The Cheery Berserker. Langris had thought that maybe _he_ was competent at least. He had seen him fight once after all. The boy was ruthless on the battlefield, cutting through men like mowing down weeds. Strength. Victory. Those were two things that boy definitely understood.

_“My mom was really proud when she heard about me win. That’s why it’s so much fun!”_

Yes. Yes, that’s true. That’s exactly right.

That’s why Langris is on top, right? On a whole different stage.

_They recognized **me**. Not you._

And yet, that brat had the gall to compare the two. To say that Finral was strong.

_Finral,_ of all people.

Langris shook. A scream tore through closed lips. The air in front of him went cold as it parted, hollowed out.

A clump of geraniums toppled to the ground. Red petals scattering like drops of blood.

_“He has the best control…”_

Another muffled scream. More fallen geraniums.

That man was nothing compared to him! And yet… and yet…

“This is Langris, my… little brother.”

That pause.

That infernal pause.

It made Langris want to punch something. To scream.

_What? _He thought acidly. His throat was tight. It was rage. It had to be rage. _Do you not consider me your little brother anymore, Nii-san? Is that it?_

Something warm and wet fell onto his hand, and, just like that, all the fight left his body. His form slumped like a puppet whose strings had been cut. The raging ball of hurt and anger scrapping up the inside of his chest disappeared, and he was left raw and bleeding and empty.

Langris suddenly felt incredibly tired. Tears streamed down his face unchecked as he sat there, knees covered in dirt, surrounded by the red droplets of geraniums, and he felt disgusting, and pathetic, and so, so tired.

_If you leave me, Nii-san._

_Who will I have left?_

* * *

Later—when he is carefully picking up the pieces of respectability and composure the heir of House Vaude must always show—he will wonder why he came here, to the empty garden of his childhood home. He will look at the ruined bushes of geraniums and remember days long since passed.

The time his brother dragged him outside to see the new breed of roses that had just been planted.

The time they’d played hide-and-go seek behind the trees and bushes until their dad caught them, and Langris was sent inside to study, and Finral got yelled at for distracting him.

The time Mom had scolded Finral for getting dirt on his pants, and neither of them had mentioned that he got it skipping out on lessons so he could help the gardener with the bad back.

Langris hated this garden. He hated the flowers his oh so kind brother had helped grow.

He picked up a petal of one of the geraniums he’d destroyed. Looked at it. Tucked it into his pocket.

It would end up pressed carefully in between the pages of an old book which he’d throw to the back of his closet and pretend didn’t exist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nii-san is a less formal way of saying older brother. It’s how Langris refers to Finral in the anime and is often translated as Finral’s name. I’ve decided to keep it here for thematic purposes.


	5. These steps I have taken, they are thanks to you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the kind kudos and comments!

People always assumed things about Vanessa. She wore tight clothes, so people thought she was easy. She was a member of the Black Bulls, so people thought she was weak. She drunk a lot, so people thought she was sloppy, untrustworthy.

But Finral had seen her fight too many times to make the same mistake. Vanessa fought like some people danced, every step choreographed, each move—even the falls—a smooth execution of bloody intent.

He had to work hard to remember that at times like this though.

Vanessa was drunk again. Not exactly an unusual occurrence. Today, however, she was flat-out, dead drunk. She laid splayed out on the couch like laundry hung to dry, cheeks apple-red and speech slurred to the point of incoherent mumbling. The first time Finral had found her like this, he’d been worried, fussed incessantly, and scolded her about knowing one’s limits. Now he just sighed, hoisted her through a portal and deposited her into the bathroom. The routine that followed was a well familiar one, involving a basin of cold water, and Finral holding her hair for her as she emptied the contents of her stomach into the trash.

He sighed as she panted over the garbage can. “Why do you always drink so much?” he muttered, not really expecting a response.

He was surprised then when Vanessa groaned out, “Because it’s fun.”

He squinted in disbelief at where she sat slumped on the ground, looking sick to her stomach, and arched a single brow. “Fun?”

She just groaned pitifully again.

* * *

Excessive drinking aside, Finral often liked to think that Vanessa was the other most level-headed, normal member of his squad. Due to this fact, they got along rather well. They would laugh at their squad-mates crazy antics, bitch about Yami’s unreasonable orders behind his back, and keep quiet about the soft admiration lurking in the other’s voice when they spoke of him. Sometimes, late at night over a game of cards and after a couple of drinks, when the common room was empty except for them, they would let quieter things slip as well.

Finral would murmur about a house and a fountain and a little boy who looked at him with bright blue eyes.

Vanessa would whisper about a birdcage.

Tonight was one such night. But instead of the quiet, almost somber atmosphere that generally accompanied these get-togethers, the air was prickly and sparking as Vanessa slammed back another drink in frustration. “His birthday is in two weeks,” she complained, “and I still don’t know what to get him!”

“You could give him the down-payment for his sword for the next time he breaks it?” Finral suggested with a smirk.

Vanessa punched him in the shoulder. “Be serious.”

“I am!” he insisted but was betrayed by the laughter in his voice. Vanessa shot him the stink eye, and he calmed himself, swallowing back the rest of his chuckles. “In any case, the sword thing really isn’t a bad idea. But other than that,” he hurried to say as she draped an arm around his shoulders with a menacing air, “you could give him some sort of magical item that would be useful, or maybe a new deck of cards, or,” his expression darkened, “access to the new gambling hall that he keeps going to.” He muttered the last one with clear vexation.

Vanessa made a frustrated noise, clearly not impressed with any of his suggestions.

“Well, what do you want me to say?” Finral groaned. “Honestly, the captain’s a pretty practical guy, so he’s probably not going to care all that much about _what_ it is so long as it’s from you, you know? Besides,” he shrugged, leaning back in his chair. “Captain’s got a pretty good poker face either way, so even if he didn’t like it, you probably wouldn’t know.”

Vanessa whapped him on the forehead. “Not helping, Finral.”

“Sorry.”

She sighed. “I just want to get him something special, okay? After everything he did for me, I want to repay him back, even if it’s just a little bit, you know?”

Finral swallowed tightly. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I know.”

Vanessa started toying with this bracelet—a thick silver band embedded with multi-colored shards of glass—around her wrist restlessly.

Finral shot it a curious look. “Where’d you buy that?” he asked. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear it before.”

“Hmm? Oh this? I got it at the last place we went to.” She shot him a teasing look. “You were too busy failing to talk up that shop attendant to notice.”

Finral rolled his eyes. “There’s no love in this world,” he muttered. He gestured back towards the bracelet. “It suits you though. Speaking of which, I was thinking we could go to Ashvale this weekend. It’s a small town to the north. Really famous for their stonework. Plus, good shopping, and their quarry is supposed to be a sight to see as well.”

Vanessa and Finral’s tradition of weekly adventures had started with but a humble cakeshop. Finral had stopped there after a mission, and, having loved it so much, went again a week later, this time inviting the newly joined-up Vanessa along for the ride. He had been surprised when she agreed, and even more so when they arrived. Vanessa had darted around the shop, exclaiming over the smallest of things, eyes whizzing around as if afraid everything would suddenly disappear. After seeing her reaction, Finral made up his mind to take her to as many new places as he could, and without fail, she greeted each one with the same, energetic excitement as the first.

And sure, there were always a few people who seemed startled or put-off by her somewhat strange behavior, but she never seemed to care. And that was Vanessa for you, wasn’t it? She was always so… so bold. So…

Brave.

Finral couldn’t help but feel a tiny bit jealous about that.

Vanessa and him. They had both been trapped in their own little cages at one point. Because of that, they understood a lot of things about the other that went unsaid. But there was one big difference between them.

Vanessa had escaped. She’d seized her liberty with her own two hands and a little bit of help.

Finral had run away. And then never stopped running.

Next to him, Vanessa grinned at his newest suggestion. “Sounds nice. I’m looking forward to it,” she said, raising her glass in cheers. Finral returned the gesture, clinking their glasses together. His eyes caught on the bracelet again. Slowly, an idea began forming in his mind.

“Hey Vanessa,” he said as a slow grin crept across his face. “I think I might just know what you can get the captain.”

* * *

Ashvale was a beautiful town. All of the houses were made of stone, carefully stacked and cemented together. Doorways and windows were carved with intricate patterns of vines and birds, dragons and flowers. The streets were cobblestoned, and every path seemed to lead to another little courtyard with a small fountain or stone statue in the center of it.

They shopped for a good while, Vanessa shamelessly haggling for better prices, and Finral porting the goods home so she didn’t load him up like a packhorse. Now, they were meandering their way through the Eastern District towards where they were told was a good scenic overlook of the quarry was, just on the other side of the town park. Sure enough, lampposts and shopfronts soon gave way to brick-lined flowerbeds and trees trimmed so their branches hung high. Colorful leaves framed a golden sky, while their fallen compatriots cushioned the path below. Stone benches dotted the sides here and there but there were few takers on this chilly day.

Not far up the path from them, an old man knelt in the dirt of one of the flowerbeds, hands gloved, a heap of weeds and dead vegetation piled up next to him. He appeared to have moved on from weeding and was now digging small holes in the dirt with a trowel. Inside of these, he would place a small, brown bulb, cover it with dirt, and then move on to the next.

_He must be planting tulips,_ Finral thought excitedly. _I bet they’ll look beautiful in the spring! Maybe we can come back then and see them. _

He used to see tulips every year at Vaude Manor. Their vibrant yellows and reds contrasting sharply with late season snow was always a sight to see, and he’d feel a sense of pride looking at them. _I helped plant those_, he’d think, and he had. There was many a day when young Finral, sick of studying math equations that didn’t seem to make any sense and history dates that refused to stick in his head, had snuck outside and hid in the garden. There, he would entertain himself watching the ants crawl, the birds fly, and Old Granny Verma—their head gardener—as she worked. She would kneel stooped over the flowerbed, and explain to him what she was doing—her voice creaking like old-leather, butter-soft and worn with age.

“You have to dig deep,” she’d tell him. “Tulips don’t like water. So they need deep holes with some nice, loose soil at the bottom for drainage.” She patted one of the bulbs gently with a tanned, gnarled hand. “Of course, that means they need a nice, high bed too. See how much dirt we have stacked up here. That’s so when it rains, all the water will run down, and these poor dears won’t be sitting in it.”

“Can I help too, Granny?”

“Of course dear,” she’d said. She showed him how to dig the holes and pack the dirt, telling him every so often to go deeper, or thanking him for the help as she rubbed her stooped back. She never once yelled at him for taking too long, or being too messy, or making too many mistakes, even though he knew all were true. Young Finral had went away that day with enough dirt under his fingernails and stains on his clothes to earn him a scolding, and a lightness in his chest warm enough to make it worth it.

It was one of the few moments of his childhood that he looked back on fondly, and he’d clung to it tightly all these years. Right now, however, as he watched this old man work, it sent a prickle of unease shooting through him. But he bit his tongue. After all, what did he know? He just had some silly, faded childhood memories, that was all.

“What’s wrong?”

He jolted in surprise and looked over to see Vanessa staring at him with a brow cocked and a teasing if questioning smile on her face. Her eyes warm too. Like Old Granny Verma’s voice.

“Nothing. Nothing,” he assured her, waving her off with both hands. Vanessa shot him an unimpressed look, not backing down. His smile faltered, and he looked at his feet, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s really nothing,” he mumbled. “It’s stupid really. Silly. It’s just we used to grow tulips back where I grew up, and I noticed some… differences that’s all.”

“Differences?”

He shrugged. “Like the holes are shallower. And the flowerbed isn’t as raised.”

“Well then maybe he doesn’t know how to plant them. You should go talk to him,” Vanessa said, pushing him forward.

Finral spluttered. “What? No!”

Undeterred, Vanessa continued to bully him onward. “Have some confidence in yourself,” she admonished. “You know a lot about flowers and feelings and shit like that, right? Go on. Go on.”

“Vanesssaaa,” Finral whined dramatically, trying to go limp against the arms pushing against him and digging in his feet.

“Nope,” she said, still pushing him forward. “Come on now. I believe in you.”

The words sent a jolt of warmth rushing through his body, and he felt the same lightness in chest that he had when he’d helped Old Granny Verma plant tulips that day. The feeling pushed him forward and kept him talking even as he stuttered and stumbled his way through the conversation with the old man. And when the man smiled and thanked him, it only intensified.

* * *

The quarry was beautiful. Ridges of craggy, white rock circled round in a jagged oval. The red-orange light of the setting sun outlined its ridges in a warm-buttery glow. Here and there, gnarled trees and thick vines clung to the cliff-face. A small lake of pooled rainwater rippled quietly at the bottom.

Vanessa stood dangerously close to the edge of the overlook, hanging onto a tree so she could lean even closer. “This is amazing!” she cried.

“Please be careful!”

“Don’t be such a worrywart! C’mon, Finral. The view from here is incredible!”

Finral took a few hesitant steps forward. The wind whipped at his hair, tugged on his cloak. He balked.

Vanessa laughed. But it wasn’t scornful. She stretched out a hand. It wasn’t mocking. “C’mon Finral,” she said gently. He let her pull him forward. He came to the edge of the rock. Could feel the drop off below in the prickles along his arm and the tingling across the soles of his feet. The trees opened up revealing the blazing sky and burning white stone clearly.

A hawk cawed as it circled overhead.

They must look like mere specks to it.

He laughed, wild and nervous. “This is insane. This is terrifying.” So what if he could make portals. He was hundreds of feet in the air. His instincts were screaming danger.

“Yeah,” she laughed.

“Aren’t you scared?!”

She just laughed harder. “Of course I am Finral! My blood is pounding so hard in my ears I can hardly hear, and my heart’s going a mile a minute,” she said clutching her chest. “And it’s incredible!” She looked at him, eyes shining. “Don’t you think so?”

Finral laughed helplessly. The cold air stung his nose and burned his chest. Some of the terror paled within him. The world loomed in front of him, wide and expansive. He felt so small.

But somehow, at the same time, so wildly powerful too.

Finral and Vanessa—they had both been in their own cages at one point.

Vanessa had escaped.

Finral had run away and never stopped running.

At moments like these though…

He felt that he could.

He felt wild and bold.

He felt brave.

Vanessa whooped into the air, and Finral’s voice rose to join her, wild and bold and brave.

* * *

“Hey, Captain,” Vanessa crooned, wrapping an arm around Yami’s neck and pushing a wrapped package into his hands. “This is from me and Finral. Happy Birthday!”

Yami tore off the wrapping paper to reveal a sturdily-built wooden box, mostly unadorned except for some white enamel inlay decorating the lid. And inside it was…

Was…?

“What is all this?” Captain Yami asked confusedly.

“This is a seashell from the Seabed Temple. It’s steeped in the region’s magic. Good component for potions and spells. Also, worth a pretty penny on the market,” Vanessa said, pointing at a large, white conch shell with a creamy pink inside.

Finral leaned over his shoulder and picked up a thick clay cup—handle-less and painted with a fine, black lacquer. “This is a teacup we brought at a bazaar in a city to the east. The salesman said it came all the way from your home country, the Land of the Rising Sun. Not sure if he was telling the truth, but it’s in the style you like, right?”

“This is a bottle of wine from a vineyard to the South. Dry red. Super good stuff,” assured Vanessa.

“This is a deck of cards we picked up from this super sketchy guy trying to sell fake magic carpets in the capital. Gave us the cards as an apology. Got a pretty cool design on them though!”

“And this is a new whetstone for your sword. Picked it up from a talented craftsman in this little place called Ashvale. We even got to see the quarry where he harvested the stone from. And Finral, here,” she said, nudging the other teasingly, “managed to work up the courage to teach someone how to grow tulips properly.” She smirked. “He was a stuttering mess the entire time though.”

Finral elbowed her back. “Always so mean to me!” he said with a roll of his eyes. “Oh yeah, and we can’t forget the box! This one actually came from Hage Village. The white decal right there, turns out that’s actually made from that gigantic demon’s horns. I guess the villagers have taken to shaving off bits of it and using it to decorate their wares.”

“In short Captain,” Vanessa said, gesturing grandly towards the box. “This is all of the places I’ve been able to go to since I’ve joined the Black Bulls!”

Yami blinked in surprise and looked down at the box again as if seeing it with new eyes. A soft smile crept over his face, and he laughed loudly. “What a good catalog!” he declared, ruffling Vanessa’s hair and slapping Finral across the back jovially. Finral tried hard not to wince. “I’m happy to receive it!”

* * *

Vanessa had held back on the drinking so she could be fully present for the gift-giving, but after that she wasted no time in getting flat-out drunk. Finral made the mistake of getting too close to her at one point and ended up caught in her tentacles. He tried to wriggle away, but it was in vain, and he resigned himself to allowing her to ruffle his hair and squeeze the breath out of him.

“Come on, Finral!” she cried drunkenly, trying to push a shot glass into his hands. “Drink with me!”

He sighed in fond exasperation. “Why do you always drink so much?”

Vanessa grinned, downed the rest of her drink, and, standing on top of the table, shouted to the rafters, arms extending like wings of a bird, “Now this is freedom!”

And maybe that was all the answer he needed.

He leaned against the bar, watching her laugh, looked over the rest of the Black Bulls—all rowdy and imperfect and _happy_—and grinned.

“Freedom indeed.”


	6. Even if I'm just a packhorse, that would be alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight SPOILER Warning: Kirsch Vermillion, a character who’s not introduced until the Royal Knight’s Test Arc will appear in this chapter. Also, this is tagged but I will be making some detailed references to the Nean kidnapping arc so just keep that in mind if you haven’t watched/read that yet.

“Finral! My favorite store is having a sale on liquor today. Portal me?”

“Hey, senpai! Me and Luck just got the location for our next mission. Could you send us off?

“I need to go see Marie.”

“Finral-senpai! All the rooms switched again, and I can’t find the training room! Could you—Thanks!”

“Food~ La la la~ Food~ Thanks Finral. I’ll bring you back some!”

“Finral, drop me off at that new gambling hall. It’s time for me to earn back what I lost. With interest.”

“Please don’t. You’ll just lose it all again!”

* * *

The Black Bulls do not have a vice-captain. There is no one to go with Yami to squad meetings. There is no one to greet the newbies and explain to them the confounding layout of the Black Bull’s Base. There is no one to keep order when the Captain is gone—to remind members that its their turn to do the dishes, or to check-in with everyone after a particularly stressful mission. There is no one to do any of that for the Black Bull’s squad.

Except there is.

Finral, as one of the first members to join, knows how confusing the base can be. He remembers distinctly that, for the first month there, he was so lost that he took to teleporting everywhere, from the common room to the bathroom, until he figured out a way around the house—a fact he has resolutely not told anyone. So, when the others join, and he sees Gauche stroll past with his fierce pride only to look about uncertainly when he thinks no one is watching or Vanessa, with her shameless smiles and boisterous laughter, stop and double back the way she came… well, Finral decides to take matters into his own hands. 

Suddenly, newbies to the Black Bulls find themselves with an awkward, stammering guide.

Things kind of spiraled after that. Magna will let him know when he and Luck are about to head out into the forest for training. Yami will yell at him that they’re out of milk. It isn’t until the third time Charmy runs up and begins interrogating him about who’s in charge of dinner that night that he thinks to question this. He is pleasantly surprised by her innocent response of “Well, you seem like the one most likely to know.”

And to Finral, a people-pleaser who has always been overly concerned with what others think… well, he supposes that if he is neurotically keeping tabs on everyone and everything that it is only natural.

Of course, this is greatly aided by the fact that everyone is constantly asking him to portal them places. From Gauche’s regular visits to his sister, to outings with Vanessa, or food-runs with Charmy, there is no end to the calls for his services. Perhaps most often, are the constant demands made of him by a one Yami Sukehiro. From bathroom trips to meetings with other squads, not a day goes by where Finral doesn’t hear Captain Yami’s low, rumbling voice say, “Hey, Finral. Take me to—” and off to the next location they go. This has ended more than once with Finral sitting stiff-backed in a room full of vice-captains waiting for the squad leaders’ meeting to end and carefully avoiding eye contact with his brother, who will shoot him the occasional poisonous glare from across the room.

It was in just such a situation that Finral found himself now. Heart clumped up painfully in his throat, he perched on the edge of his chair and stared fixedly at his lap. Around him the vice-captains laughed and talked casually, chit-chatting about their latest missions or newest recruits.

Things took a turn from their normal progression however when Kirsch Vermillion—vice-captain of the Coral Peacocks, and, according to Klaus, Mimosa’s older brother—broke off in the middle the conversation he was having with the Aqua Deer’s vice-captain to turn to him. “Finral~” he cried, flapping his hand to catch the other’s attention. “Remind my illustrious self how many Eye of the Midnight Sun did your squad encounter during that dreadful kidnapping case. The one just outside of Nean.”

Finral started, a little thrown at being addressed so suddenly. “W-well, let’s see,” he stammered. “There was that mad-scientist lady, then their leader Licht and the spatial-magic user that teleported him, followed by his generals, the Third Eye: Vetto, Fana, and Raira. So, six in total.”

“I see! Ah, what a terrible situation that must’ve been,” Kirsch cried, hand posing dramatically by his forehead before fluttering down to clutch his chest. “What a shame that the beautiful and handsome me was not there to lend a hand.”

“Ah… yes,” Finral finally replied. _Is he always like this? _He rallied quickly though. “I am most grateful of course,” he said, “for the timely intervention of Captain Roseray, Ripper, and Silva. Things almost certainly would not have ended so well if not for them.” Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the respective vice-captains of those squads—attention attracted first by Kirsch’s antics and then by Finral’s name-dropping of their captains—nod along in approval.

“Of course,” came a familiar drawl, and Finral looked over to find Langris’ heavy gaze boring into him, “things would’ve been fine if you’d been able to do your job properly and teleport them out, right Nii-san?”

They both heard what he really meant. _All you are is a packhorse, and you can’t even do that properly. _

Finral bit his lip and looked down. Cold shame scraped clean the inside of his chest. Langris, like all siblings, always knew which words would hit the hardest. A brief flicker of frustration flared within him—_Why must he **always **be like this?_ —but, without any real anger to fuel it, it burned quickly out.

He wondered dimly just what it was he’d done to make his brother hate him so much.

Finral could feel the eyes on him, waiting for his response. He ducked his head and rubbed the back of his neck. Blood roared in his ears. “Y-yeah, I was- I was out of magic at that point.” He laughed, a tremulous smile on his lips. “What can you do?”

“Yes,” Langris murmured lowly, “I suppose you would have been.”

“Regardless,” broke in a familiar, low, beautiful gravelly voice. “It was thanks to Finral that, first Gauche, and then me and Asta managed to get the drop on Licht at all, weakening their leader and saving all our asses in the end.”

Finral’s gaze shot over. Sure enough, there stood Captain Yami, arms crossed, an unreadable look on his face. Those who hadn’t been listening before certainly were now.

The Black Bull’s captain continued on, heedless of all the attention he was drawing. “Every single member of my idiotic squad gave it their all that day,” he said firmly. “They pushed past their limits and worked together. I won’t have anyone bad-mouthing them.”

Langris huffed but turned away, obviously not willing to push the matter any further now that Yami was there. Kirsch, who’d started the whole conversation to begin with, laughed nervously and turned back to his previous conversation partner to start waxing poetically about his latest acts of valor in the field. The other bore his theatrics with a thin smile and a surprising amount of a patience.

“C’mon,” Captain Yami said, laying a warm hand on his shoulder. “Let’s go home.”

Finral was only too happy to comply. As the portal swirled open, he looked over just as Langris happened to glance at him. For just a second, their eyes met.

He didn’t know what Langris saw in his.

His brother’s eyes, however, looked almost… frustratedly… sad.

But that didn’t make any sense, so he supposed it was only his imagination.

* * *

“Thanks for teleporting me as always,” Captain Yami said, stretching languidly as they stepped into the empty common room of the Black Bull’s base. Finral nodded wordlessly, feeling quiet and contemplative and not at all up to interacting with others. He felt Yami’s gaze bore into him and was grateful the other wasn’t one to pry.

Indeed, Yami didn’t push him to talk. He just lit a cigarette and watched the smoke disperse into the air as he let out a deep exhale. “Thankfully,” Yami told him, “I can always count on you to not get into trouble at those meetings.” He huffed. “Not like those other idiots,” he muttered with a sort of gruff affection. He took another puff of his cigarette. The smoke curled into the air. For a second, it looked a little like one of Finral’s portals, twisting and glowing in the dim light.

Yami sighed suddenly and clapped his hand on Finral’s shoulder. “You know,” he began in a casual voice. “It’s okay to be uncertain or frustrated or afraid. Just,” his grip on Finral’s shoulder tightened, “don’t let it stop you.”

Finral looked down at his feet, heaved a tired sighed, and nodded.

Captain Yami smiled and ruffled his hair. “Don’t let anyone go stomping all over you, Finral. You’re a Black Bull after all, it reflects badly on us.” He paused thoughtfully. “Unless that person’s me of course.”

Finral scowled and whacked his shoulder. “Jerk.”

Yami just laughed and slapped him on the back. _Petty revenge_, Finral thought as he cringed in pain.

* * *

The next time Finral and Langris met, it was on the battlefield. Spells were flying, people were shouting, loud explosions echoed in the distance, and, in the midst of all that chaos, stood his brother—his small form caked in blood and dirt. Finral wasn’t any better; he stumbled as he walked, one arm wrapped tightly around his midsection, the other clasping his shoulder.

“Langris,” he rasped, surprised and concerned and already bracing for pain. “I didn’t know the Golden Dawn was here too.”

“Nii-san.” Langris said his title almost softly, the usual vitriol gone. His face was pale and blank even as he gazed at Finral intently. It was unsettling.

“Are you alright, Langris?” 

Langris stared at him dumbly. “Am I alright?” he echoed. He looked bewildered. He looked like he was about to cry.

The pain in Finral’s midsection throbbed, and he groaned, swaying to one side.

Langris’ eyes widened.

Finral’s vision swam, and the world echoed strangely around him. Before everything went black, he swore he heard a muffled voice frantically calling out. “Nii-san! Nii-san! Nii-san!”

* * *

It was storming outside. Rain lashed against the windowpane, and, every now and again, lightning lit up the overcast sky. The plain room of the medical ward seemed eerily silent now in the wake of bustling nurses and fussing doctors, but it wasn’t empty. No, because Finral had a visitor.

“Nii-san.”

“Langris? What are you doing here?

Langris didn’t answer the question, just scoffed and crossed his arms. “Trust you to get injured on a simple mission. Idiot.”

Finral smiled. “So I’ve heard,” he said, thinking about the tongue-lashing Vanessa had given him when he’d woken up.

Langris scowled. “Who gets hit full-on by a magical attack and is stupid enough to keep going without receiving any medical attention?”

Finral couldn’t help the laughter that poured from his mouth. “Literally, at least half my squad.”

“Idiot!”

Finral let out a few last chuckles before sobering. “Really though Langris,” he asked softly. “Why are you here?”

Langris stared at him silently, his gaze unreadable. “Just checking to see if we had to make funeral arrangements,” he eventually sneered and turned towards the door. “Guess you’re not dead. How nice. Less work for me.”

“Wait,” Finral cried panickedly as he reached the doorway. “Thanks for checking on me.”

Langris scoffed. “Whatever. I didn’t do it for you.”

Finral smiled sadly. “I know,” he said. “Dad probably asked you to come. Appearances and whatnot. Thank you anyway.”

Langris’ face twisted. “Do you really think so little of me?” he asked bitterly. The door was closing behind him before Finral could even think to respond.

* * *

“Langris came to visit me the other day.”

Klaus paused mid-sip. “The vice-captain did?” he asked incredulously.

It was Sunday. Finral was still confined to the bed in the medical ward, bandages weren’t coming off until that evening when he’d have enough stamina to support another magical healing session. So, Klaus had brought the tea to him. And a half-an-hour long scolding, but Finral would take what he could get. Honestly, if it was anyone else in his place, he probably would’ve done the same.

Finral nodded, still not quite believing it himself. “To make sure I was still alive apparently.” He huffed. “Probably was told to, either by Dad or Captain Vangeance or…” he shook his head and trailed off.

“I don’t know about that,” Klaus said diplomatically. “After all, it was Langris who teleported you to safety after you collapsed on the battlefield.”

Finral frowned. “Was it?” The events prior to him falling unconscious were blurred. He remembered yelling, the whizz and burst of magic, and a pair of cool hands clutching him. That was about it. 

“Yes,” Klaus nodded. “Mimosa was the receiving medic. She told me.”

Finral blinked, diverted by this new piece of information. “Ah, so the lovely Ms. Mimosa healed me? You must convey to her my thanks!”

Klaus rolled his eyes. “Sure, that I can do. Still though,” he said with a frown, “I can’t believe you went into the frontlines. What were you thinking?”

“What was I supposed to do?” Finral cried, throwing up his hands. Unfortunately, the gesture pulled at his still-healing wounds. They pulsed angrily with pain, and he settled back down with a wince. “Luck and Asta had both pulled too far ahead and gotten themselves surrounded, cut off from the rest of us. I thought I could just stealth in a little bit, open a portal, and pull them back. Who’s to know I’d be noticed so fast.”

Klaus shook his head. “That black cloak of yours probably didn’t help matters. It’s like a big flag saying “I’m am enemy please shoot me down.’”

Finral bristled. “Well it’s not like yours is any better.”

“No,” Klaus agreed evenly. “But even I recognize that _it_ and stealth do not go along.”

“It just didn’t occur to me alright? I almost never take this thing off.”

Klaus raised an amused eyebrow. “Not even when you go to try to pick up girls in the capital?”

Finral clutched his chest dramatically. “Especially then,” he declared. “Ladies love a man in uniform.”

Klaus rubbed the bridge of his nose at Finral’s theatrics. “You’re impossible,” he muttered.

Finral just grinned back cheekily in response. He sobered slightly though when he looked down at the cloak in question. It was singed, tattered, torn, and the only reason it wasn’t the color of dried blood was because it was black already. He sighed. “I really did a number on this poor thing,” he said. “I’m probably going to have to get a new one.” He frowned, not at all pleased with the idea.

“What’s wrong with that?” asked Klaus, picking up on his expression.

Finral shook his head. “It’s nothing really,” he said. “It’s just…” He sighed. “I’ve had this one ever since I joined the squad, you know? The captain gave it to me.” He gave a little shrug. “I guess, after all this time, it’s just a little hard to part with.”

Klaus fixed him with a keen look that said he knew that wasn’t the full story but didn’t pry any further.

Finral hadn’t been lying per se. He had had the cloak for a long time, and the idea of parting with it now was tough. But it was also so much more than that.

Captain Yami had given this cloak to a weak, spineless young man who’d just given up his place in the world without a fight.

It was a promise.

It was alright if Finral was bad at fighting.

It was alright if he was a coward.

It was alright if all he could do was open portals.

It was alright…

Because Finral had his own way of fighting. One that revolved—not around toppling his enemies—but building up his friends.

And that was enough for Yami. That was enough for Finral to be worthy of being a member of the Black Bulls. This cloak was a promise of that.

A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. Klaus and him both looked up to see Captain Yami leaning against the doorway, a cigarette in his mouth. “Yo,” he drawled, raising a hand in greeting.

A nurse happened by. Did a double-take at the cigarette. “Sir, this is a medical ward. You can’t have that in here,” she said. Yami growled but reluctantly stubbed it out.

Klaus, meanwhile, was gathering up his things. “Well I wouldn’t want to intrude on anything important,” he said. “So I’ll be taking my leave now. Finral,” he cast the man in question a stern look. “Don’t do anything stupid to aggravate your injury, alright?” Finral nodded meekly, and Klaus offered up a rare soft smile, clasping him on the shoulder. “Get better soon, alright?” The concern in his eyes was painfully evident, and Finral felt a little guilty for having made him worry so much.

“Will do,” he promised and returned the smile. He opened a portal for the other, and Klaus collected the teapot and saucers and cups from the bedside table and loaded them onto the metal tray he’d brought with him.

The nurse stared at him incredulously. “Y-you can’t…” she stammered. “You can’t bring a whole tea set in here. This is a _medical ward_.”

“Ah, my apologies then,” Klaus told her sincerely, “I’ll keep that in mind for the future.” And then he stepped through the portal and was gone.

The nurse stared at the spot where he’d been standing blankly for a moment before stumbling away. Distantly, down the hall, they could hear her muttering in disbelief, “Magic Knights. I swear there’s something wrong with the whole lot of them.”

Finral muffled a snort.

“I see you’re doing better.”

Finral jolted, eyes darting over to where Captain Yami was still leaning against the doorway. “Ah yeah,” he said sheepishly. “The bleeding’s all but stopped, and the doctor said I’ll be released by this evening.”

Captain Yami nodded wordlessly, eyes uncharacteristically serious and heavy. Finral fidgeted uncomfortably in the silence.

“How is everyone else doing? Is Asta and Luck alright?”

“They’re fine. So is everyone else. The only one who got hurt in that fight was you.”

“Oh.”

Yami’s jaw tightened. “You know,” he said, fingers fidgeting with the snuffed-out cigarette restlessly, “when I said not to let fear or shit stop you. I didn’t mean go charging into the fray either. There’s a middle ground to these sorts of things, you know?”

Finral frowned. “I did not go ‘charging into the fray,’” he said indignantly. “I had a plan. I was going to sneak in, open a portal beneath their feet, and then port myself away. It just didn’t work as smoothly as I’d hoped.”

Yami snorted. “Since when you are such a risk-taker?”

Finral gave him an affronted glare. “What happened to pushing past your limits?” He sighed. “Look, they were in a pinch, and I had the power to help them, so I did. What kind of squad-mate would I be if I didn’t?” he asked. He looked down at his lap, his shoulders rounded.

_Don’t you believe in me? _

Yami stared at him wordlessly for a long second before heaving a heavy sigh. “You brats will be the death of me, I swear.” The hand that had been hiding behind the door came up, and he tossed something over to Finral. “Here,” he said. “Thought you might be needing a new one.”

Finral caught it instinctually and looked it over. His heart clenched in his chest and a warm feeling pooled in his stomach. It was a new cloak, the Black Bulls insignia sewn proudly on front. He clutched it close to his chest. “Thank you,” he said softly.

Yami snorted. “I should be saying that to you,” he muttered. He scratched his cheek. “Look, I know don’t say this a lot but,” he looked Finral in the eye, “I can always count on you to look out for the others and take care of them for me. Thanks for that.”

Finral felt his throat tighten and, to his utter embarrassment, felt tears begin to slide down his face.

“Hey now,” Yami cried teasingly. “What are you crying for? I was just complimenting you. Shouldn’t you be saying ‘Thank you Captain Yami for your kind words of praise.’”

Finral sniffled and shook his head in exasperation. “Thank you Captain Yami for your kind words of praise,” he parroted back snarkily and gave a watery smirk.

Captain Yami chuckled and ruffled his hair. “Cheeky brat.”

He helped Finral to pull the new cloak over his head without straining his injuries, and then, because Finral insisted, walked him over to the mirror so he could “look himself over properly.”

Langris had called Finral a packhorse many times.

He was not wrong.

Finral was a packhorse. A coward. The failed son of House Vaude.

Finral was a member of the worst squad in Clover Kingdom’s history; they were messy, loud, violent, and rude.

He looked at the black robes he wore, at the bull staring resolutely forward, at Captain Yami, who still stood there supportively by his side, looking back at him with warm eyes.

Finral was a Black Bull.

He couldn’t be more proud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, thanks to everyone who read this fic and for all your kind support! It was a lot of fun to write, and I hope to do more in this fandom in the future.


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